


When You're Low

by Be_Right_Back



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Picard
Genre: (my tag for Raffi and Cris), Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode tag: s01e08 Broken Pieces, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Space Siblings, Spoilers for Episode: s01e08 Broken Pieces, Things Are Still Not Okay, What They Do During Those Nine Hours, aka I can't get enough of our Space Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be_Right_Back/pseuds/Be_Right_Back
Summary: A few weary smiles and a conversation about Romulan beliefs and Oh's reasons behind the black flag directive aren't catharsis. During those nine hours before they dive into the Borg transwarp conduit, nine years of repressed grief, guilt and exhaustion catch up with Cris. Once again, Raffi is right there to hold the broken pieces together.
Relationships: Raffi Musiker & Cristóbal Rios
Comments: 15
Kudos: 54





	When You're Low

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Picard 1x08, Broken Pieces. It's one AMAZING episode, lemme tell you that. I've got sooooo many fics ideas for Captain Vendermeer and Cris *sobs*
> 
> The title is from "Brother" by NEEDTOBREATHE. That song fits Raffi and Cris so yell that I'll totally use it again.

It would take them nine hours to get to the Borg transwarp conduit. Nine hours was a long time when you were exhausted, physically and emotionally. Once Cris was okay with Soji _hijacking his ship_ and getting them all to that goddamn planet of hers, he told her and Picard to get the hell off his bridge. 

(He actually said it a lot more nicely, because Soji had to be tired too, and because Jana's eyes were innocent and earnest and he didn't want to fuck it all up again this time around, and because he couldn't have her think that he hated her.)

(He didn't, he really didn't.) 

Cris silently watched the universe warp around his ship, huddled in his seat. He actually raised his knees up to his chest, feeling like some wounded animal that couldn't make itself small enough. It sucked. It sucked, like putting on a shirt to hide a bleeding shoulder, or curling up into a ball to cover a knife wound to the stomach. It sucked like building blast doors to protect a crumbling house, and it also sucked like putting so much fucking time and effort into creating a big façade and having it all stripped away in one fucking day. 

Inside him were that fear and despair that wouldn't go away, and along them the even more terrifying, disturbing, _disgusting_ knowledge of what he'd _done._

He'd done _it_. He'd bared his soul to somebody for the first time in nine years, he'd kicked in the walls hiding his brokenness, he'd let everybody know that he wasn't okay, that he was just weak and scared and nothing like the awesome lone space wolf type. 

Everybody.

Strangers. Goddamn fucking strangers.

He'd told Raf first – Raf who'd already seen him cry and who knew just when to get lost and when to hold him, Raf who was just as messed up as he was. But then he'd told Picard, and Soji, and Agnes, and what did he know about them? About the kind of people they could be? 

(The one-night stand, the Starfleet Admiral, the kid that looked just like the girl who had brought his whole world crashing down. The killer, the _Starfleet_ guy, the synth that'd hacked his ship in minutes.) 

What kind of power over him had he just given them? 

Cris was tired, and lost, and terrified.

And he was _exhausted_. 

The computer gave one mournful ping as it tried to remind him that the emergencies holograms were still all offline. He ignored it and kept staring into space, making sure not to blink. Blinking was bad. Blinking was closing his eyes, and he could feel his heartbeat speed up and his breath hitch at the mere thought of doing that. 

No closing his eyes.

No sleeping.

He didn't want to remember, or to see. 

He wanted to get absolutely plastered, to maybe drown the fucking memories in alcohol, to get too numb to care. He wanted to stop hurting and to stop being so goddamn tired, and he wanted to actually breathe instead of choking on air. 

He wanted to go back to looking invincible and relatively well-adjusted, so that nobody would ever _ever_ ask him how he was doing, and he'd never have to come up with a convincing answer. 

(He wanted to sob into somebody's chest and never ever try to look strong when he wasn't, because the last nine years had been so goddam _exhausting_.) 

Cris let out a startled gasp when a hand grabbed his right shoulder. He wrenched his body away – almost fell out of the chair – panting, eyes wide, heart frantically pumping ice through his veins.

_No no no no no, no. No._

"Shhh," a voice – soothing, familiar, his favorite voice – murmured, and then he was looking into Raffi's concerned eyes. "Shhhh," she repeated, crouching in front of him. "It's alright, babe, it's just me." 

He hadn't heard her coming. Didn't remember her leaving the bridge either, now that he thought about it. He rubbed his shoulder and smiled at her like it wasn't so goddamn painful, and he waved dismissively. 

"Just mind the shoulder, Raf," he said brightly. "I got tritanium stuck in it not too long ago." 

He was surprised – disappointed in a way, fucking relieved in another – to hear that he sounded fine. Strong, normal, nothing like the complete wreck he knew he was. He was not surprised – disappointed, sure, and so _goddamn_ relieved – when he realized she wasn't buying it. 

"Come here," she said, tugging him by the arm. 

She got him to unwind slowly and to slide to the ground next to her, and she wrapped him in a loose one-armed hug. She brushed some of his hair away from his forehead. He let her do it without a word, afraid that he might start crying again. 

"You should go get some sleep, Cris," Raf said gently. 

She was so very kind and sweet right now, and he hated that, he hated to think that he needed that. (He wasn't pulling away from the embrace, though. He was leaning into it, desperate for the touch, for the knowledge that he mattered to Raf.) 

"I can't—" he tried to say, his voice breaking halfway through. He swallowed and tried again. "I can't sleep."

"Want me to get you something for that?" Raf asked with a frown. She wasn't getting it.

Cris looked away and shook his head. 

"I don't want to sleep," he amended. He could feel himself shaking under Raffi's arm. "Just go, I'm fine." 

_Please don't go_ —

_Please don't stay._

_Please don't watch me lose it_ —

_Please don't leave me alone._

He heard Raffi sigh, and then she let got of his shoulders and got up. Cris almost stopped her, but then he shut his mouth as he remembered that he wanted this, and he let her walk away. 

No, wait.

Not _away_ , just to the console. She typed in a few commands and the same force field Soji had put up surged behind him, startling him again. He glanced over his shoulder, frowning in confusion when he saw that it was pitch black. Probably noise cancelling too, judging from the buzzing. 

"There we go, privacy curtain," Raffi said with a smile, and she sat down again. 

He stared at her pleadingly, but he knew her. She was stubborn, she was caring, and she was ruthless. And she was about to pick him apart, glue him back together and make him sleep.

"Raf, I don't want to sleep," he said again. 

She stroked his hair, like she'd done his quarters, and then she gently cupped both of his cheeks and didn't let go. 

"How long have you known me, Cris?" She whispered. 

"It's been a while now," he whispered back. 

Trust Raf to make things easier that way, to make talking mechanical and rehearsed and way simpler. 

"I know you hate sleeping, honey," Raffi murmured. "And I know why now. And it's okay."

Cris nodded, and she pulled him closer. He leaned his forehead against her shoulder and breathed slowly, never closing his eyes, careful not to sob. Raf started petting his hair. 

"There," she murmured. "Doesn't it feel nice? I know you like it when I do that." 

He loved it. She actually loved it too, and he was the one stroking her own mess of curls when she was drunk and sad. 

"My mom did that," he mumbled. "And I think he did too, once or twice."

It slipped out before he realized what he was saying. 

"Your Captain?" Raf asked.

"Got myself pretty beat up a few times," Cris explained softly, still without looking at her. "Away missions, negotiations turned sour, the like. He always visited me in Sickbay."

"I'd have liked him," Raffi said thoughtfully, as though there'd ever been any doubt. 

"I've got good taste in people," Cris managed to joke. 

It made Raffi snort, and she elbowed him gently and forced him to get his head off her shoulder. 

"Yeah, right. Like Jurati?" Raf snorted again.

Cris could feel the knots in his chest loosening, the banter warm and welcome, and so normal that it almost felt like nothing had happened at all. It probably wouldn't last, but it was nice.

"It was _one_ night. And I was onto her! She practically told me she was the one with the tracker," he argued. "And you like her too!" 

Raffi shook her head, looking exasperated.

"It would have been nice of you to tell me, instead of having me do my own little investigation separately," she scoffed, but her eyes were still smiling. "I honestly thought you were being as much of an idiot as Picard." 

She didn't deny liking Agnes, which counted as an admission. Raf usually liked problem-riddled people. He guessed that was the mother in her, always trying to coddle and to make up for the years of parenting she'd apparently screwed up. It made so much sense, in retrospect, that he was still surprised he'd known her for years without ever realizing. 

"There's lot of stuff it would have been nice to tell each other," Cris said, and it was neither an apology nor an accusation. 

Raffi sighed and looked up to the ceiling.

"We've never been big on talking, you and I," she admitted with what sounded like regret. "Kind of crazy, don't you think? To keep each other at bay like that."

It wasn't crazy at all. It had been a defense mechanism, in both of their cases. They'd had to hide their old life away and sweep their long list of screw-ups under the rug in order to be able to live with themselves, and their friendship had been the kind of routine you maintained with cheap meals and alcohol. They had gotten drunk together, they'd eaten badly replicated and overly greasy food together, they'd ranted about how Starfleet sucked together, they'd been disillusioned about life together, they'd shot at things and gotten shot at together, they'd danced together (once or twice, either undercover or hammered), and they'd fallen asleep on each other. 

And they hadn't _talked_ about each other.

Not until Picard and his grand heroic quests, and his absolutely ridiculous tendency to pick up strays, and his sometimes really insightful comments. (Those were always ruined by his many tactless blunders.) 

"He— My Captain— _Alonzo—_ " Cris stumbled over the name, because he hadn't let himself think of the word "Pops" in nine years, "he'd have liked you." 

Raff smiled sadly.

"Gabe— My son—" she replied with the same hesitation, "I don't know if he'd like you. I don't— I don't know enough about the kind of man he is. But if I'd met you ten years earlier, he'd be calling you Uncle Cris." 

Cris didn't doubt that. He huffed out a little laugh, wiping his eyes tiredly. 

"Good thing you didn't. I'm a terrible role model." 

"Can't be worse than me," she said as she drew him into her arms for a full hug, holding him against what felt like the whole universe. 

It felt good. 

It felt even better to know that Raf, his Raf, his big _hermana_ Raf knew all about him now and didn't care. It felt good to know that she'd still be there to hand him black coffee, that she'd still need him to hand her black coffee, and that she'd be by his side when they arrived to that hell planet in the fucking Vayt sector, where he'd probably meet other Janas, and other Beautiful Flowers.

There wouldn't be other Captains though.

He shuddered, let out a single sob.

"Oh, baby," Raffi whispered in his hair. "Baby, it's okay."

"Raffi," he whimpered, because she wasn't getting it, "I yelled at him. I yelled at him, and— and then he used the phaser. I shouldn't have yelled."

His eyes were screwed shut now, because he didn't want to cry all over Raf, and he could see Alonzo raising that fucking thing to his face. He could see the blood – _so much blood_ – and the fucking _brain matter_ , and he could see his Captain's face frozen in death, the back of his head fucking obliterated, and he could smell the blood and the piss and the vomit – his own vomit. 

All of that over some fucking _robots_ – smiling robots, that could laugh and draw and who'd eat their french fries dipped in ice cream like it wasn't absolutely disgusting, and who had names and faces and who had died by his Captain's hand. 

All of that because some half-Vulcan Romulan freak had decided that the synths' deaths couldn't wait until the ship returned to Earth. 

All of that because Cris had yelled. 

"I shouldn't have," he sobbed into Raffi's shirt. "I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have."

If he'd just— If he'd told him that he understood— If he'd just grabbed that fucking phaser—

If he'd just looked away. 

Raffi was rocking back and forth, like his own mama used to do when he was small. She was humming something that sounded nothing like his mom's lullabies or his Captain's music disks, and that sounded very much like _Raffi_ , spicy and warm and the closest thing to family he could hope to have. 

He forced his eyes open, forced himself to stop crying and to just breathe, and to forget about the blood and the vomit, about beaming bodies into space and telling bullshit to the crew with a voice that cracked and legs that trembled. 

"It wasn't your fault, Cris," Raf was saying. "It wasn't your fault at all." 

And he thought that she might be sounding a little angry. He hoped that it wasn't at his Captain. He'd been angry at his— at his _dad—_ for a long time, and it'd never felt right, or good. He didn't want other people being angry at Alonzo Vandermeer either. 

"Wasn't his fault either," he whispered as soon as he could get the words out without crying again. "It wasn't."

"Okay, okay," Raf said. "It's okay, hermanito."

It almost made him chuckle. 

"Your accent is still terrible," he half-laughed, holding her tighter. 

"Yeah, like you're one to talk," she replied cheekily, her breath tickling him. "Ian, your Scottish engineer holo? I don't think he actually speaks English. And I don't think Emmet actually speaks Spanish either."

"Hmm," he dimly acknowledged. "The Scottish thing wasn't me." Then he had to think for a second, and he realized what she'd just said. "You talked to them?"

"I had a long, _insane_ conversation with all five of them. They're the one who told me that you were upset and drunk, and alone in your quarters."

"They're jerks," he muttered, words slurring. He was getting _so_ tired.

She tutted as she lowered him onto his back. A pillow materialised under him, and she covered him with a blanket. 

"Emil and Enoch are really great. Nicer than you. Terribly eager to please. Really helpful."

"Almost sounds like you like them better than me."

"Don't worry," he heard her say from far away, the words muffled and almost impossible to make out. "You're still my favorite." 

He'd have said thanks, but he was already asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it wasn't too sappy. (Gosh, my writing used to be so terribly sappy - makes me wanna throw up just to think about it). 
> 
> I felt that the physical contact galore wasn't ooc because Raffi and Cris canonically hold hands and are generally super tactile with each other, but idk, whaddya think?
> 
> (Also I absolutely love that she calls him "buddy," "babe," and "honey"!! So sweet <3 Their relationship is killing me guys.)


End file.
